


Harassment

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Series: Reconciliation and Return [4]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7369981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was me," said Jack.  "What was you?"  "Your last snog." </p><p>Jack takes Ianto home after a harrowing day at Torchwood.  Set right after "Countrycide."</p><p>For the fan flashworks 'dirty' challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harassment

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little interlude in the middle of the Reconciliation and Return AU

Ianto felt mangled more in spirit than in body, despite the thorough beating he’d taken. He could not believe he’d broken down like a spoiled, petulant child in front of Torchwood.  They’d killed his girlfriend, an exercise in teamwork that was certainly worth a bit of a pout, although he really ought to have taken care of his own mess: it was his job, after all.  
  
Jack had taken an unusual amount of interest in Ianto since that awful day they all shot Lisa, hovered about while Ianto was treated for his beating and saw him home after Owen claimed to be chaperoning Gwen back to Rhys.  Of course, that last bit was none of Ianto’s business, so he tried not to notice that they were obviously sleeping--or, in fact not sleeping, but rather doing other things--together.  The ride was quiet.  

“It was me,” Jack said as they rounded the last corner toward the little flat Ianto had rented and fixed up, hoping that he and Lisa would set up house.  He felt ridiculous at how childish it all seemed, how silly he had been. Of course they could never be together in that fairy-tale way, not working at Torchwood. Even Gwen, who was kept purposely out of the worst bits, had trouble doing that.  Today, Ianto felt sullied to the deepest places of his being, having been tenderized for butchering, literally a piece of meat for eating.

  
“What was you?” Ianto asked, biting back a moan.  The industrial-strength painkillers Owen had given him were wearing off too quickly, but the physical pain was a sort of relief from his agony of soul.   
  
“Your last snog.” The air in the car seemed to change consistency.  Ianto saw in his mind’s eye that moment, regaining consciousness in Jack’s arms, his lips seeming oddly used.  He felt, somehow, that he should have minded it all a bit more.  Instead, he was curious.  It had been a very long time since he’d had a proper snog or a proper anything else for that matter.   
  
“Was I conscious during this so-called snog?” Jack snorted.  
  
“Not really,” said Jack.  “Maybe a little at the end.”  He edged up into a miraculously free parking space just outside the building.  
  
“That’s harassment,” said Ianto. “Worse than all those comments about how I look in a suit. Worse than the grabbing.”  
  
“Those jeans actually do wonders for your ass,” Jack said, opening the car door and going around, coat flapping.  Ianto managed the door handle, but did not object to Jack helping him up.  
  
“Or that,” Ianto said. “Harassment.”  They grinned a bit at each other, and Jack eased a hand around Ianto’s waist to help him walk.  A sudden thought assailed the young man.  “You hired me because you fancied me. A piece of...”  
  
Jack started to laugh, caught Ianto's expression and choked it back.  “No, Ianto. I hired you because you fought off the pheromones and the pterodactyl.”  They made it across the sidewalk and to the stoop. "Plus you look great in a suit."  
  
“Oh,”  Ianto moaned. He had to lean against Jack to get up the steps.  Jack reached into his pocket for the keys, and Ianto felt the fingers against his thigh, groping slightly more than was strictly necessary.  Jack held Ianto closer, managed the door.  
  
“Ground floor?” Jack asked.  
  
“Second floor walk-up,” Ianto said.  It took a while, winding Jack and making Ianto feel as though his head had been filled with cotton wool.   
  
They entered and Ianto could feel Jack’s surprise at the neat, homey touches.  The pink calico bunting in the kitchen.  The needlepoint cushions.  All the things he’d salvaged from their home in London.  The one Lisa never seemed to have time to spend in, now that he came to think of it, since Torchwood meant working all hours.  And shagging your work mates. Ianto choked back a sob.  
  
Jack sat him down on the bed and moved back toward the loo.  “Whiskey’s in the cupboard,” Ianto said.   He had only managed to unzip his hoodie when Jack returned, jacketless, with a washcloth, whiskey and pills.  
  
“Let me help you with that?” Jack poured two fingers of whiskey each into two square, heavy glasses.  
  
“Harassment,” said Ianto, accepting one glass, gulping at the amber liquid while Jack slipped his other arm out of the hoodie.  
  
“Good,” said Jack, pulling off Ianto’s shoes and socks.  “Gods, you need a shower.”  
  
“I don’t think I can stand on my own,” Ianto admitted.  Jack nodded and disappeared.  Ianto heard running water.  
  
“Bath,” Jack said.  Ianto let Jack help him into the bathroom, undress him and ease him into the tub.  Didn’t say anything as Jack picked up each of the shampoos and cosmetics that had been Lisa’s, pulled all the pink towels and a flowered robe from the linen closet.  
  
“The bunting?” Jack asked, poking his head back in the open door a few minutes later.   
  
“New. My sister.”  
  
“You okay for a few minutes?” Jack’s eyes travelled down the battered torso, pausing at each bruise and then lingering.  
  
“Yes,” said Ianto, positioning his washcloth strategically.  “Stop staring.”  
  
“You look better out of a suit. Much better.”  
  
“Harassment.”  
  
By the time Ianto had discovered he couldn’t wash his hair on his own, Jack had returned with a sack of ice for the battered face and some more powerful painkillers.  His shoes were off, toes poking out of his socks, and he’d removed his vest and rolled up his sleeves.   
  
“Lean forward.” Ianto did as he was told. They tried not to notice the tears of horror and grief that fell into the water as Jack gently washed his hair and scrubbed his back and then the rest of him, carefully making sure each toe was clean.  Jack settled Ianto, still naked, between the crisp, white sheets of the guest room bed, and sat with him until he fell asleep. "You did great today."  
  
*-*-*-*  
  
When Ianto woke, late morning light slanted in at the windows and smells of coffee and fried eggs filled the air.  He tried to sit up and his moans brought Jack.  “Nice kitchen setup, Ianto.  Hungry?"

Ianto's stomach clenched.  "No. And don't make a mess."

"Have some more whiskey.  Go back to sleep.”  
  
“But,”  Jack proffered more pills.  Ianto took them.  
  
“Sleep.”  
  
He woke again at dusk and this time sat up, then stood and staggered to the loo. Leaving proved more difficult. “Hey,” Jack caught him before he crashed to the floor, warm hands on his bare skin, and steered him away from the living room.  It was devoid of Lisa.  Ianto would never know how Jack decided which things had been hers, how he chose the single picture of them together to leave in a drawer.  Or why he, Ianto, never felt violated by the cleanup, the clear preparation for Jack to move into Ianto's intimate life.  Or why Jack was wearing his pyjamas with the feet sewn in--the ones his sister had given him at Christmas.  
  
“Storage,” said Jack, tucking him in, this time into fresh sheets, the pink Egyptian cotton ones he bought when he first came to Torchwood, in his own bed.  “Hungry now?”  
  
“Not really,” said Ianto.  Jack gave him another whiskey, this one better than what Ianto had had in the house.  
  
“You okay on your own now?”  
  
Tears rose in Ianto’s eyes. “I don’t…” his throat caught at the next word and held it fast.  
  
Jack nodded then, climbing into the bed and taking Ianto in his arms.  “Rest.  We can talk in the morning.”  But Ianto had already nestled against him, fast asleep.  He smiled when Jack kissed his forehead, but Jack didn’t notice.  "Yeah.  Pheromones."  


End file.
